


Prise de Fer

by La_Temperanza



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, First Time, Making Out, Past Character Death (minor character)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 17:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While her attraction to Morgana leaves Gwen feeling flustered and bashful, she's still willing to fight for it. Even if it means challenging Morgana herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prise de Fer

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I've never written Gwen/Morgana before, this prompt just called out to me. So I hope this is what the prompter was looking for! A thousand thanks to my wonderful beta **Moonlightwish** who constantly helped me improve this, and much appreciation for **Alilypea** who kept me sane while I struggled to write this.

_Feint. Disengage. Thrust._

While she has most of the techniques committed to memory, Gwen hasn’t actually seen them executed so flawlessly before. Well, except for the video snippets she sometimes finds on the internet, where the top names in the fencing circle perform moves in such a fashion that she can only _dream_ of emulating one day.

But she most definitely has never seen them acted out in person, and the longer she observes the bout in front of her, the more she considers the mysterious challenger to be even better than some of the experts Gwen idolizes. The stranger (easily identifiable as female, even under the protective clothing and mask they are required to wear) moves with a certain grace and finesse, as if the foil in her hand is simply an extension of her body.

_Stop-cut. Parry. Riposte._

It is almost some sort of unusual waltz than a bout, the guiding beat provided by stomping of feet against the mat and hiss of steel sliding across steel. The advance-lunge that comes next, a perfectly executed 1--2-3 tempo, is akin to a conductor leading a great and masterful symphony.

Wandering over to the sidelines where the rest of the club looks equally mesmerized, Gwen gently nudges Elena in the side, wincing when the other girl drops her water bottle with a squeak. How anyone thought combining the clumsy blonde with sharp, pointy things would be a good idea is a complete mystery, but Elena has proven to be quite a contender in the sport, often joking it is one of the only things she is good at. “Gwen, you scared the crap out of me! Are you just now coming in?”

“I’m so sorry!” Gwen says apologetically, lowering her voice when she notices others are glaring in their direction and frowning. “I was talking with the new Home Ec. teacher after school and didn’t realize how late it was already. So, who is that with Mithian? I don’t think I’ve seen her here before.”

After making a face at the mention of “Home Ec.” (being on a first name basis with the majority of the local fire department because of that class), Elena beams as she gestures to the center of the court. “She’s good, isn’t she? I mean, Mithian is one of the best we have, but this new girl seems to be amazing. It’s no wonder, since I heard she’s Arthur Pendragon’s _sister_.”

All the air in Gwen’s lungs is sucked out at those last few words, and a torrent of memories featuring her beloved childhood friend rushes through her head. It’s been so long since the two girls have seen each other that the possibility of them meeting again has seemed nigh impossible. But Arthur Pendragon has only one sibling, often insisting that his half-sister is “one too many”.

When the bout finally ends (with Mithian playing the part of the gracious loser), the new addition to the team removes her face mask, and all doubt is erased from Gwen’s mind. True, the passing years have changed them both as they grew older, but there are still those familiar locks of deep mahogany hair, distinctive green eyes that flash golden in the light, and the trademark smile that never fails to draw attention in the middle of a crowded room. “…Morgana!”

Upon hearing her name, Morgana searches the room for the source before her gaze lands on Gwen. Her eyes widen in instant recognition, and her smile grows as she crosses the distance between them with a self-confident gait. “Gwen!” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around Gwen and squeezing tightly. “It’s so good to see you again!”

It takes a few seconds for Gwen to react, for she is still reeling in shock from the whole situation. There are a thousand things she wants to say, ranging from _I’m sorry I didn’t write_ , to _I missed you so much_ , and even _You’re prettier than ever_. But instead, all Gwen can do is stammer, “I--I didn’t know you were back! I mean, Arthur didn’t tell me, but it’s not like he and I actually talk that much, but still--”

“You’re still as cute as I remember,” Morgana interrupts as she brushes a stray hair out of Gwen’s face. It’s a motion that harks back to when they were children, spending a whole afternoon just brushing, braiding, and generally playing with each other’s hair. Morgana would read her mother’s fashion magazines to find what hairstyles they could try out on each other, and Gwen would make circlets out of flowers when they grew tired of using their joint collection of bows, barrettes, and other assorted hairpieces.

Suddenly realizing she’s been caught up in daydreaming about their past, Gwen feels her cheeks flush. “It’s just that... I thought you were living with your mother now.”

A shadow falls across Morgana’s face, causing Gwen to regret saying anything, even though it had been an innocent question. “If it’s a touchy subject, you don’t have to--”

“It’s fine,” Morgana responds in a clipped tone, her smile now strained and forced. “My mother decided she would much rather travel around the world with her new husband than care for her own daughter.”

Despite her flippant attitude, the Morgana Gwen once knew would be secretly devastated at being cast aside so easily. “Oh, _Morgana_ , I’m so sorry, I had no idea…”

Morgana sniffs airily. “That’s why I’m back here. Because while he and I don’t see eye to eye most of the time, at least Uther doesn’t _abandon_ his children.”

The following silence is so thick it could be considered suffocating, and Gwen tries to imagine calling her own father by his first name and discovers she can‘t. The concept of using something other than “Dad“ is too alien of a concept to her, and the fact that Morgana can refer to her own father in such a cold manner is saddening. Clearing her throat, she tactfully steers the subject of the conversation in another direction. “…So! What made you join the fencing club? You’re very good, by the way.”

A smile (a real one, filled with bright, perfect teeth) lights up Morgana’s expression at the mention of fencing. “Well, you know when Arthur first started? He called me up, bragging about how good he was at it, and I wasn’t about to let him gloat and not do anything in return!”

It seems rivalry between the Pendragon siblings is going on strong, and Gwen muffles her giggle by placing a hand over her mouth. “…But, Arthur quit the fencing team,” she explains a moment later, tilting her head in puzzlement. “He said he couldn’t juggle being captain of the football team and fencing at the same time.”

While Gwen had been depressed to see that, when Arthur left, a lot of the team had went with him, she is certainly glad that his groupies are gone as well. Even though she is too nice to say anything, it had been hard to concentrate on a match when shrieks of, “Arthur, watch out!” filled the gymnasium.

“A likely excuse,” Morgana says, rolling her eyes dramatically. “The coward didn’t even stay long enough for me to have a chance to beat him.”

The match between Arthur and Morgana would have been a formidable one indeed, and Gwen really couldn’t guess the outcome, but would put her money on Morgana out of loyalty’s sake. “You could always join the football team and show him up then, right?”

The mere idea causes Morgana to wrinkle her nose in disgust. “And run around with dirty, sweaty men all day? Ugh, no thank you. Besides, once I started, I found I really like fencing. There’s something so graceful about it, you know?” Morgana pauses to sigh wistfully. “What about you?”

Gwen has been too preoccupied with the mental image of Morgana in uniform and playing football--and determining she would look beautiful no matter what sport she played--that she almost misses the question. “What about me?”

“Why are you a part of the fencing club? Arthur mentioned you every now and then, surprised on how ‘a sweet girl like Guinevere’ could handle a sword so well.” Muttering something underneath her breath that sounds like “Men!”, Morgana continues with a knowing grin. “But didn’t your father teach you? Because he works with that group of people who dress up and pretend to be from the Middle Ages or something like that, right?”

Even though Gwen is proud of her father for providing for his family with a job he loves, she is always slightly uncomfortable when she has to discuss it with people who aren’t familiar with the lifestyle. “Yes, he’s still running a shop at the Renaissance Faire and doing online orders for metalwork in the off-season. ...I’m probably the only girl whose father gave her a sword he forged himself for her sixteenth birthday.”

What Gwen doesn’t mention is that even though it had been an unusual choice for a gift, it’s probably the best one she has ever received. She had grown up with a doll in one hand and a wooden sword in the other, and while it might seem so unusual that she is so interested in the sport, she finds that she’s inexplicably drawn to fencing. After all, it is a hobby that could be considered elegant, powerful, and cathartic at the same time.

“Lucky! I don’t think Uther would let me have anything that didn’t have a rubber tip on the end of it.” The wicked expression on Morgana’s face at the thought could be a good reason why; the squabbles at the Pendragon household would take on a whole deadlier edge otherwise. “You have to show me it some time.”

“How about this weekend?” Gwen blurts out, a moment of panic welling inside her when she fully grasps what she’s just said. What if Morgana is just being polite? “…I mean, only if you want--”

“I’d love to,” Morgana replied, beaming brilliantly and saving Gwen from any further embarrassment. “You still live in the same house? The Victorian-styled cottage with all the rose bushes in the front?”

Something yet to be fully identified flickers and forms in Gwen’s belly at the realization that Morgana has remembered where she lives, even after all these years. “That’s right... Does Sunday afternoon work for you?”

Someone calls for Morgana at that moment, and she waves to them in acknowledgement before hugging Gwen again. “I have to go, but I’ll definitely be there Sunday. I’ll talk to you before then, though, okay?”

“…She is so cool,” Elena coos after Morgana leaves, and it’s Gwen’s turn to jump; she forgot the other girl has been standing nearby this entire time. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” Gwen agrees quietly as she watches Morgana’s retreating form, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “No, it’s not.”

\--

One of the things Gwen loves about Morgana is that--while she has always been a beautiful and amazing person (and _knows_ it)--she treats everyone the same, regardless of their social status. Okay, she hasn’t lost her penchant for teasing the opposite sex (using a sardonic wink or a verbal barb as her choice of weapon versus the literal sticks and stones of her earlier years), but for the most part she is generally well-liked by every person she meets.

So out of all the tables in the cafeteria she could have chosen, the fact that Morgana heads towards Gwen makes that small glimmer of emotion that’s been slowly growing inside her surge with excitement. It’s dampened again, however, by the rationalization that Morgana is probably looking for the company of a familiar face. Besides her brother (and it’s obvious that Arthur is definitely _not_ an option), Gwen is the only choice.

“Mind if I join you?” Morgana asks, as if there’s any chance that the group Gwen normally hangs with will say no. Elena might be even more enamored with Morgana than Gwen is, her admiration bubbling and spilling over in her expression. Mithian has a solemn sense of respect for Morgana after their last bout, and will most likely strike up a discussion on various techniques. Freya doesn’t seem to care either way, too wrapped up in her latest fantasy novel to notice anything except direct questions.

Only Vivian looks like she might object; she has already secretly whined to anyone who would listen about how she doesn’t want Morgana becoming more popular than herself. But while she can be more petty than Gwen can stand at times, Vivian’s not stupid, and knows being rude to Morgana now wouldn’t help her in the long run. “Why not?” Vivian sighs, tossing her blond hair back behind her shoulder. “You’re Arthur’s sister, right? Arthur Pendragon?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Morgana says, clicking her tongue in dissatisfaction as she takes the conveniently empty seat next to Gwen. She barely has time to grimace at the wilting lettuce of the salad she’s purchased before Vivian acts like they’re suddenly the best of friends. “Oh my God! What it’s like? Do you think you could introduce me to him?”

Pushing the salad away in disgust, Morgana raises an incredulous eyebrow and smirks. “Really? You’re the fifth girl to ask me today. It’s not that hard to do it yourself: you go up to him, say ‘How are you?‘ and your name, and that’s it. Though, if you do attempt small talk, try to use short words, for his sake; he doesn‘t do well with conversations that involve too many syllables.”

Vivian sputters something unintelligible in disbelief. Mithian clears her throat politely. Elena tilts her head to the side, confused. Freya turns to the next page of her paperback, still not paying attention.

Gwen‘s the only one who responds, covering her mouth in an attempt to muffle her giggle. “Morgana, that’s mean!“ she reprimands softly, even though she’s unable to hide the smile on her face.

“What, you know it’s true!” Morgana snorts. “Don’t tell me, you still have a crush on him? I remember in elementary school you used to follow him like a lost puppy.”

“That was a long time ago!” Gwen protests weakly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She’s not about to say that the brief infatuation she once had with Arthur is nothing compared to the one she now has with his sister.

“Good,” Morgana says, placing a hand on Gwen’s knee and squeezing. “I always thought you were too good for him anyways.”

Heat from Gwen’s face is quickly spreading to the rest of her body, and as she locks gazes with Morgana, everyone else seems to disappear. One by one, until there’s just the two of them left behind, and the only sound is Gwen’s heart pounding in her ears.

The moment is inexplicably broken a few seconds later, and she blinks as the rest of the world comes back into focus. The conversation around her has continued as if nothing has happened, and she starts to think she has just imagined it all. But even with Morgana’s hand no longer on her knee, Gwen’s skin still tingles under the denim of her jeans.

\--

The rest of the week can not go by fast enough, but when Sunday finally rolls around, Gwen feels like she hasn’t had nearly enough time to prepare. She has always been the neat and tidy one in her family--constantly reminding her brother the importance of putting clothes _in_ the hamper--but she still makes sure the entire house is scrubbed sparkling clean from top to bottom. After rummaging through her wardrobe for over an hour, she decides on a purple bohemian top and khaki capris that pops sharply against her cocoa skin. She gives her reflection in the mirror her best morale-boosting smile as she secures her curly dark hair with a flower child headband.

Her father laughs at her (after she swats his hand away from the freshly baked cookies she’s made) and asks, “What’s all this for?”

Gwen freezes; in all her preparation, she has forgotten to tell her father her plans for the day. “…I’m having a friend come over, is that okay?”

“A friend?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow but teasing playfully, “Could this friend be a _boy_ friend?”

“No, _Dad_ ,” she sighs. She really doesn’t want him to stumble into his version of “The Talk” again; the one time has already been awkward enough. “Remember my friend Morgana? She’s moved back to town, and we wanted to catch up with each other.”

“I always wondered what happened to her; you two used to be thick as thieves when you were younger.” Her father steals a cookie even under the threat of being thwacked with the spatula. “Well, you two have fun, I’m going to be in the garage if you need me. Don’t forget we’re going out for pizza after Elyan’s practice tonight.”

“I know,” she responds, beaming at the kiss he places to her temple before he goes off to his work.

It’s a little past two when Morgana shows up, and by then Gwen has worn a path in the plush fibers of the hallway rug. She jumps at the sound of the doorbell, and tries not act like she’s been waiting by the front door when she opens it. Before Gwen can even say anything in greeting, Morgana steps through the threshold and hugs her tightly. “Gwen! I’m not too late, am I?”

Gwen unconsciously leans into the embrace, inhaling the heady scent of Morgana’s jasmine perfume. If the moment lasts a little too long to be considered socially acceptable between friends, neither of them mention it. “…O-Of course not! Please, come in.”

After Gwen shows off the sword her father made--and Morgana has properly cooed over it as if it is a newborn child--they somehow make their way to the backyard. Even in the middle of September, the tendrils of summer heat still curl around them, forcing them to escape to the cool shade underneath the trees. Swaying lazily in the patio swing as they sip ice-cold lemonade and nibble on cookies, they seem to have an endless supply of things to discuss. Gwen finally apologizes profusely for not keeping better contact over the years, and Morgana brushes the whole thing off, saying they both could have been better about it; at least they can see each other again now. Morgana then asks slyly if there’s anyone special in Gwen‘s life, and Gwen splutters through her response, figuring it’s not an outright lie if she just says she’s not interested in any boys at the moment. It could be possible that Gwen has just imagined the brief flash of relieved satisfaction that flits across Morgana’s eyes at the answer. But what Gwen can’t ignore is how the sides of their thighs press into each other as they idly talk, the sultry heat created between their bodies more stifling than anything the current weather could throw at them.

It is during their conversation about their favorite classes that Gwen notices how many times Morgana has yawned in the past hour. While she looks just as beautiful as ever, her face is pale and pinched, and no amount of makeup can truly cover the dark circles under her eyes. Gwen smiles sympathetically, even though her insides twist and turn in uneasiness. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

Morgana pushes a stray hand of hair out of her face, uncharacteristically sheepish. This isn’t the Morgana that most people know, the self-confident woman filled with bark as well as beauty. This person is an ethereal yet unsure being that the outside world doesn’t get to see, and Gwen doesn’t know how to feel now that she’s privy to it. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I don’t mean to be rude. Just... It’s so nice to hear your voice.”

That is probably the greatest compliment Gwen has ever received, and her cheeks flood with warmth once more. “It-it’s okay. I can talk and you can just listen if you’d like,” she says, wordlessly offering her shoulder as a makeshift pillow. Morgana takes it gratefully, shifting so she leans against Gwen’s side, reaching down to intertwine their fingers together.

And as Morgana drifts off peacefully to the sound of softly whispered words and sweetly sung bird songs, Gwen dreams along with her.

\--

“Should have figured you and Morgana would have matching costumes,” is what Arthur says when the front door to the Pendragon household opens, and Gwen freezes like a deer caught in headlights. For one thing, she didn’t expect Arthur of all people to be greeting guests. But in retrospect, she supposes it makes sense to throw a secret costume party when you don’t have pesky things such as hired help to be witnesses.

However, her second--and more pressing--concern is that she has no idea what he’s talking about. “…What do you mean?”

After he opens the door wider to let her in, Arthur jerks his head back towards the cluster of people behind him. “You’re telling me the two of you didn’t plan this ahead of time?”

Gwen wonders if this is some private joke she’s not aware of, because while she and Morgana have spoken nearly every day now for the past few weeks, there have been no conversations on what they’ve decided to dress up as for Halloween.

But then Gwen finally spots Morgana in the crowd, and everything suddenly makes sense. “…No, she didn’t tell me…”

Arthur scoffs, and whether it’s because he’s surprised or doubtful, Gwen doesn’t care. Because all she can focus on is Morgana and how her sultry red visage clashes with Gwen’s demure white one, yet complements it all the same.

“In any case, they fit the both of you,” Arthur says before snorting. “Especially hers.”

“I heard that!” Morgana calls from across the room, her face lighting up when she notices Gwen by his side. “Gwen, you made it!”

Gwen shyly smiles, trying not to notice how the shimmering fabric of Morgana’s outfit clings to her supple body as she walks over. “I-I wouldn’t have missed it! …Wow, you look...you look amazing.”

Morgana grins wickedly, looking every bit the fiendish temptress she embodies tonight. “You do, too! But... Do you mind if I try something?”

Without warning, she presses their bodies together as she snatches the halo off Gwen’s head and replaces it with her devil horns. “There, because every good girl should still have a naughty side, don’t you think?”

“You have an horrible influence on people, you know that, Morgana?” Arthur groans, shooting a look towards Gwen which is supposedly sympathetic, but she just finds it patronizing. “Guinevere could never be like you; she’s too nice and proper, like _certain_ others _should_ be.”

“Oh, shh! I’m sure Gwen is capable of more than you realize,” Morgana counters as she drapes an arm across Gwen’s shoulders like it belongs there. “Now, if you excuse us, Gwen and I are off to actually have fun at this party, ‘like _certain_ others _should_ be.’”

During the exchange, Gwen has been struggling to remain calm, but as they walk away, she hears Morgana mumble something about Arthur having a stick up his ass, and she finally bursts into breathless giggles. Morgana beams at her before joining in, peals of their melodious laughter ringing through the party noise for the rest of the night.

\--

While Gwen understands the importance of hospitals and the service they provide, to this day she can never stand being in one for too long. The starkness of the waiting room reminds her too much of that time years ago, when her entire family’s life changed to the dreadful tune of tires screeching and horns blaring.

The constant reminder that this isn’t like the night she lost her mother is the only thing that keeps her from completely breaking down, but only just. But like that time where she was suddenly forced to take care of her brother and father alike, she wonders if this accident now is somehow her fault. Of course it’s really not, but she can’t help but blame herself the longer she’s left alone with her thoughts.

 _If only_ , she thinks over and over in her head, _if only_ …

“Gwen!” The sound of a comforting voice she never expected to hear here causes her to glance up sharply to see Morgana running towards her. It’s pure instinct alone that pushes Gwen from her seat and into Morgana’s arms, her knees threatening to buckle underneath her. “Morgana… It’s Elyan, he‘s…”

“It’s alright, Arthur told me,” Morgana explains softly as she guides a wobbly Gwen back to her original seat. Once they are both sitting, Morgana places both of her hands against the sides of Gwen’s face. Her brow is furrowed with obvious concern, but she’s giving her best comforting smile. “Is your father with your brother now?”

Gwen nods once, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of Morgana’s cool touch against her flushed skin. “They think Elyan just has a concussion and a sprained wrist, but they wanted to run a few more tests to be sure.”

“Good,” Morgana says, exhaling the sigh of relief Gwen can’t release from her own body just yet. “I’m still going to kill Arthur for this. What was he thinking, having them play in the park with this weather?”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Gwen weakly protests, remembering the frantic call she’d received from Arthur just a few hours before. “I don’t think anyone expected freezing rain this early in November, and Elyan should have been more careful himself, but now I’m just worried this means he’ll have to sit out the rest of the season if he’s really hurt and--”

The realization that she’s babbling (and more importantly, babbling in front of Morgana of all people) is what cuts Gwen off. She’s suddenly very conscious of her puffy eyes and haggard appearance, and she wipes away her tears with the heel of her palm. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out in a strangled attempt at a laugh, “I’m overreacting, aren’t I? I probably look like an awful mess right now.”

Morgana grabs Gwen’s wrists to gently pull her hands away, staring with such an intense expression it sends shivers up her spine. “No,” Morgana says as she leans forward to place a kiss to Gwen’s forehead, “Don’t ever think you’re anything less than beautiful.”

\--

While her brother recovers from his injuries with quick and relative ease, the whole experience leaves Gwen utterly drained for days. It’s as if she’s being tugged in every which direction, and if she’s stretched any thinner, she’s liable to snap from the tension.

So when Morgana invites her over to watch movies one night, Gwen understandably jumps at the offer. Not only is it a chance to spend time with Morgana, it’s a way for her unwind from the stress that’s been dogging her heels.

However, as they plop down on the massive sectional leather couch and start the movie Morgana has picked out, Gwen suddenly realizes that she probably won’t be able to relax after all.

Because while it’s a comfort to have Morgana at her side, it has become somewhat of a curse. For now Gwen (or more specifically, her body) is acutely aware of Morgana’s presence and what effect it really has on her.

It’s not like Gwen didn’t know before that she has something akin to a crush on Morgana; she just never considered what to do about it, if anything at all. At first she determined it to be just admiration (albeit highly magnified) for her friend, but now? Now what she feels is far from admirable.

Heat fills her cheeks and trickles down through the rest of her body. If she were to be given a pop quiz later on the movie’s plot (or hell, even its _name_ ), Gwen would definitely fail, because all her focus is on the “hows” of the moment.

How they’re sitting so close that they’re nearly on top of each other, even though there’s plenty of empty space left on the cushions. How their bodies are pressed and melding together, as if they’re parts of a jigsaw puzzle that have found their matching piece. How Morgana’s fingers have found their way into Gwen’s hair, causing her to shiver involuntarily at the sensation.

How Morgana grins as if she _knows_ , making Gwen shiver once more.

There’s a line in their relationship that’s drawn between them, and they’ve started to toe at it and test its true boundaries without really crossing over. For once they do, they can’t go change their minds and go back to how things were before.

This insight scares yet exhilarates Gwen so much, she doesn’t know what to feel when the moment is interrupted.

“What are you two watching?” Arthur asks as he abruptly comes into the room, and Gwen instantly tenses, then wonders why she’s acting like she’s just been caught in the midst of making out with his sister.

Maybe it’s because she has been thinking about doing just that for the past five minutes.

"Go away, Arthur," Morgana says as she pulls away from Gwen to reach for the remote and pause the movie. The removal of her hand leaves Gwen with such a severe sense of loss that she lowers her eyes while biting into her bottom lip.

"Come on, Morgana. I've had my brain filled with so much math nonsense thanks to Merlin here that I'd even watch a stupid chick flick at this point."

A lanky, dark-haired boy that Gwen recognizes from school shifts nervously behind Arthur, obviously uncomfortable at being included in this conversation. As if he knows the two of them have walked in on something, even if Arthur is too oblivious to realize it.

The smile Morgana plasters on her face might seem sweet and polite on the outside, but if one looked closely, they could see the deadly undercurrent swirling beneath. "...Gwen, excuse me for a moment, I have to go speak to my dear brother about his lack of manners."

Before Arthur can even protest, Morgana drags him out of the room, leaving Gwen to flounder in a sea of anxiety.

"Um," the boy (who Gwen concludes is the aforementioned Merlin) mumbles, "Sorry about this. Arthur can be bit of an ass sometimes, can’t he?”

While his last statement is true, the fact that Merlin has actually said it aloud (when most people wouldn’t dare) is what astonishes Gwen. She stifles a laugh, and determines she’s starting to like him already. “It’s okay, I don’t mind if the two of you wanted to watch too.”

Merlin makes a face at the idea, and Gwen can’t resist giggling this time. “Not a fan of romance movies?”

“No, that’s not it. I mean, I didn’t want to interrupt…” He pauses, then tilts his head back towards the hallway, the terse conversation between the two Pendragon siblings audible through the walls. “You and Arthur’s sister…?”

“Morgana and I are friends,” Gwen answers a little too quickly, not expecting the small pang in her chest at her own words.

“Right,” Merlin says, giving her a small, understanding smile she doesn’t quite know how to interpret. “Just that, you still have the look in your eyes when you’re talking about her--never mind, it’s none of my business, is it?”

“’The look’?” Gwen echoes dumbly, reeling from the shock that a stranger has an inkling about her true feelings for Morgana. Is she that obvious?

After a moment of hesitation, Merlin explains, “Sorry, it’s what my friend Will calls it whenever he sees me after… Anyways, I just thought that maybe you and--”

The door opens before he can finish, and a petulant Arthur (followed by a smug Morgana) wraps an arm roughly around Merlin’s neck. “Change of plan, Merlin. Since my sister is being a witch and won’t share the living room with us, guess you can back to your horrible attempt at tutoring me in algebra.”

“I can’t wait, _your royal highness_ ,” Merlin drawls sarcastically with a dramatic roll of his eyes. But then he shoots a empathic glance back in Gwen’s direction, and suddenly everything he’s said clicks into place.

Oh. _Oh_.

Later the night, when she and Morgana crawl under the covers of the queen-size four poster bed, Gwen watches her friend drift off to sleep beside her before she allows herself to wonder.

She wonders if her eyes light up whenever Morgana is in the room. If she smiles so wide her cheeks are about to crack. If she unconsciously moves closer every time Morgana is nearby. If she looks like she has fallen completely head over heels.

Gwen doesn’t need a mirror to know the answer.

\--

In most of the romantic films she's watched (well, the ones she paid attention to at least), confessions of adoration are usually done in a loud and showy fashion, complete with dramatic background music and pivotal lens-shots.

The problem is, Gwen has never been synonymous with "loud" or "showy", and can't even attempt to be otherwise. But on the other hand, she doesn't want to just go up to Morgana and simply say, "I like you more than a friend, and I think-- _hope_ you feel the same way."

(Actually, she has already tried to say that exact phrase once, but in her nervousness she ended up mumbling something incomprehensible instead. Her cheeks still burn at the memory of Morgana’s inquisitive stare when Gwen tried to wave it off as nothing.)

It's only been a week since the infamous "movie night", but for Gwen--who can't get the memory of Morgana's touch out of her head--it feels like decades roll by and she still hasn't acted upon her desires. Perhaps it's out of sheer desperation that she finally forms a plan.

"...Morgana?" she starts hesitantly one day, just after practice has finished up. Everyone else have left already or are just filing out of the gymnasium now, leaving the two of them behind. Even the coach has retired to his office to complete last-minute paperwork before the weekend, meaning there's hardly any chance they'll be caught. "...If I get just one hit on you in a fifteen point bout right now, can I give you something?"

There's a brief pause as Morgana tilts her head to the side in confusion. "Gwen, why would you ask for a bout to _give_ me something? What is it?"

"I can't tell you just yet." Maybe it isn't fair to not let Morgana know what she has in mind, but Gwen doubts she will be able to go through with it any other way. "J-Just please trust me?"

At first, Gwen expects her motives to be questioned further, but Morgana fixes her with a critical eye before donning her face-guard. "Okay, to fifteen points then."

As she makes her way to her designated end of the mat, Gwen wonders what the hell she's doing. She's studied Morgana’s techniques before, and they've even had earlier matches together where she has failed to score a single point. But she has to succeed now, for if she doesn't, she loses in more ways than one.

After the traditional salute, the bout begins, and if Gwen thought Morgana would go easy on her, she soon finds she is sorely mistaken. While she is talented herself (as one of the higher ranked members of the club), Morgana is in a skill class of her own. Some people rely on speed for their attacks, while others depend on strength for their defense; Morgana uses a seemingly flawless combination of both. It's not long before she scores a hit, and then another, making Gwen increasingly thankful she had the foresight to ask for a fifteen point bout. If she had suggested five, the whole thing would be over in matter of minutes.

Even though she has yet to score a single blow, Gwen enjoys the match with Morgana more than she has with anyone else. There’s something almost sensual about how they advance on each other, reverberations from their connecting foils traveling through their ducking and weaving bodies. Their chests heave, their limbs ache, their brows perspire, and on top of it all, Gwen is simultaneously dreading and eagerly awaiting the end result.

Usually, Gwen doesn’t like to take risks, and she clings to this principle even off the fencing mat. It’s one of the reasons it’s taken her so long to consider confessing her feelings, and even longer to actually acknowledge them. But this is probably the biggest risk she has taken in her entire life, and this notion is what spurs her to throw caution to the wind. She leaves one of her lines open and exposed, inviting Morgana to attack while praying it will work to her favor.

It does.

Gwen barely blocks Morgana’s blade in time and flicks her own so the tip lands smack dab in the center of Morgana’s chest. They both immediately lock into place, and the only sound is their muffled breathing until Morgana finally says, “...Touché.”

With a jerky movement, Gwen tugs her helmet off, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. She stares with widened, watery eyes, unable to believe that she’s actually done it. Her mind screeches that this her chance, _what is she waiting for_?! But as her heart pumps more and more adrenaline through her veins, she can’t bring herself to move a single inch.

“...Well?” Morgana prompts as she takes off her own mask, blowing hair out of her flushed face as she smirks expectantly, “What did you want to give me?”

The spell holding Gwen’s feet to the ground is suddenly broken, and she rushes forward to press her lips against Morgana’s own. The kiss is sloppy, inexperienced, and comprised of all the wrong angles, but as their foils clatter to the ground while they wrap their arms around each other, neither of them seem to care.

Eventually her lungs start screaming about the lack of air, but Gwen still sighs wistfully when they pull away to inhale deep, shaky breaths.

As she lazily rubs her hands up and down Gwen's arms, Morgana leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. "I’ve been wanting to give you that too."

\--

The next time Gwen is invited to Morgana’s house, all pretenses of watching a movie or doing anything else are dropped in favor of skipping straight to the bedroom. As soon as the door is shut and locked, the two tumble down onto the mattress, sinking into the downy comforter as their bodies intertwine with one another.

Even in her wildest--and more embarrassing, to be perfectly candid--dreams, Gwen has never imagined being with Morgana would feel like this. Like one stuck in a constant euphoric high, grounded only by sweet kisses and delicious caresses before shooting back up again.

She must have let out a little laugh at this without realizing it, for Morgana stops nuzzling at Gwen’s neck to lift her head up curiously. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s nothing,” Gwen murmurs dreamily, tilting her chin to place her lips shyly against Morgana’s own, her heart skipping a beat when Morgana willingly returns the gesture. They've started kissing each other whenever they can, but every time seems like a fresh new experience that needs to be properly explored.

While she's content with chaste and innocent kisses, Gwen loves it when Morgana takes control and transforms them into something more. Something that becomes more messy and frenzied in a matter of minutes, spurring on the heat that pools in their bellies.

Suddenly, Morgana rolls them both over so she's straddling Gwen with a satisfied smirk. She stretches over her with a sort of feline grace as she tugs the hem of Gwen's shirt upwards, her tongue lapping at the skin underneath.

Gwen writhes helplessly against the covers, her fingers finding their way into Morgana's hair, tangling themselves in the fine strands. Morgana hums her approval against the swell of Gwen's breasts, and her mouth soon finds a hardened nipple to suck at through the cotton confines of Gwen's bra.

"Morgana!" Gwen gasps breathlessly before eagerly helping in the mad dash to completely remove their tops and bras. She shivers once; not just because of the sudden coolness, but also the sensation of their now bare chests pressed together that’s sending jolts of electricity down her spine.

If Gwen thought Morgana was gorgeous before, it's nothing compared to her beauty now. Her normally pale skin is flushed a creamy pink, only slightly lighter than her lips, which are still swollen and shining from kissing. But before Gwen can say anything, Morgana beats her to it. "Gwen, you're so beautiful,” she whispers in an awed voice that Gwen knows is meant for her ears only, “Beautiful and amazing and just... _you_.”

They quickly shed their rest of the clothing, and as their hands dance across every inch of each other’s bodies, as their fingers slip into the wet and willing warmth between each other’s thighs, they become beautiful together--through the rest of the night and into the days that follow.


End file.
